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"Make mine an Oxford Smash Cocksucker!" she screamed above the music being played by her DJ friend Little Miss Saigon.
"Where's Putrid? Did she make it home?"
This Little Miss was Drug-fucked. "No you cretin," exclaimed the other, "she's still in London and won't be here until the Big Parade.
What are you like!". This Little Miss was a Cocksucker. It was New Year recovery 1996, and the Little Misses were sitting across a table groaning with cocktail glasses in an over-crowded Gilligan's. "How much did I have?" quizzed Little Miss Drug-fucked. "Not enough!" they both chimed in unison. "Last I heard, Putrid had passed out after a three day binge of gin and tonic. She was found face down in a pool of her own vomit at Charing Cross Station." "P U T R I D ! !" they squealed. "Now you know we have to make her costume for the Big Parade and the one for Little Miss Lost The Plot," Little Miss Drug-fucked lamented. "I know but Butt-fucked offered to help us as well." "I thought she was in the Marching Drags?" "Yeah, me too but she failed the audition! Can't dance, can't fuck." "Well, she could always try Leather Pride!" replied Little Miss Drug-fucked, attempting to stifle a sarcastic grin. [next] the big toy shop |
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